Dreams of Death
by Seabound
Summary: "You know you're in love when you can't fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dream." Captive of sleepless nights, Amy Cahill and Ian Kabra fight the horrors pulling them into an abyss of darkness. Amian/Iamy


**Author's Note:** Talk about a record; this is my fourth one-shot in a week! I _really_ should be updating _To Forgive, _but I have a small case of Iamy fluffitis. Anyway, please review and check out my other stories! Also, the quote below was made by Dr. Seuss! I thought I would try something focusing more on Ian, and when I saw the quote, I though it applied perfectly. They've defeated the Vespers, blah, blah, blah, and they find Arthur is alive.

**Disclaimer: **I, AmberCahill, only own the ideas, plot, and words written below. The characters of this fanfic belong to the authors of _The 39 Clues_. If the need to contact me arises, please leave it in the reviews - I don't PM (Private Message).

o.o.O.o.o

* * *

_"__You know you're in love when you can't fall asleep, because reality is finally better than your dreams." _

* * *

o.o.O.o.o

The mansion was four times the size of the White House, and it's easy to get lost. Winding hallways, the occasional traps, and of course, the hidden passages and stairwells, some yet to be discovered. There's a game room, several lounges, theaters bedrooms, dining halls, a main ball room, and so much more. A Lucian Stronghold is hidden away there too, but it's nearly impossible to find, unless you know where it is. And the security of the house was the best in the world, so there's no way suspicious activity and intruders will go unnoticed.

Often, maids and butlers disappear while wandering in the depths of the house, but no one really cared. It's a warning to those who leave the rooms they should be in, and it's a cinch to hire another. There's loads of money, thanks to them building their way up from the two million they had, and now they're back to being billionaires. But as Ian Kabra strolled through his home, he felt that he was now witnessing the terror of his own home's wrath being unleashed upon him.

He didn't know where he was, or where he was going. The map of the building was memorized in his head, and it seemed that a new section had been built without his notice. His feet were leading him through corridors, past rooms, and into secret openings in walls. He wanted to stop; to turn back and retrace his steps, but he couldn't. For the first time, he was completely lost and helpless. A shudder ran through him as he remembered the punishments that Isabel would inflict upon him when he _did_ feel that way.

A bloodcurdling scream broke out; the sound strangled and choked. His feet couldn't move when he tried to run towards it, and he groaned in frustration. The hall around him spun, until he was standing in a room, his mother glaring maliciously at him. Tied to the electric chair that he was given (what he thought were empty) threats about, was a pale, limp body. Red hair cascaded down the girl's back, and Ian wasn't sure whether of not the darker streaks were blood. Frozen in shock, a furious yell made its' way up his throat, but it was too late. A dagger had plunged into his heart, and his vision blurred, leaving him to darkness.

o.o.O.o.o

Ian awakens with a gasp, clutching at his chest. There's no blood, and certainly no weapon. His eyes scan the room for any potential threat or Isabel, but there is none. It had all been a dream. Lately, his nightmares have been haunted by his mother and _her_. He isn't sure why Amy was in each one, and why she would be dying. Even though it was a figment of his imagination, the mere though scares him. His mind was taking his worst horrors, and turning them into fake realities when he slept. He's sure there were probably dark circles from his sleepless nights. After all, it _is_ three in the morning.

Were eighteen year old boys even supposed to have such horrid dreams? Maybe it was because of the danger in the Cahill world that he had faced and seen. As he studies the crest painted above the door in Grace's mansion, he tries to calm his labored breathing and clears his head of all thoughts. He's never had been more glad that they weren't at the Kabra mansion, and were visiting the Cahill siblings. He didn't think he would be able to look at his home the same way before the particular night.

A shriek interrupts his thoughts, and his heartbeat speeds up by a tenfold. He throws off the sheets from his body, and hastily pulls on a pair of socks. It was a dream; nothing could have been real. Isabel was back in prison, not in Amy's home potentially torturing her. Not bothering to change his pajama pants and fitted, navy t-shirt, he rushes into the hall.

Silence. Was he imagining? There's another thump, a startled gasp, and he immediately makes his way to the room he had never visited before. It's always been off limits, and his habits of being in places he shouldn't be in has worn out. It strikes him odd that no one has awoken from the noise, but then again, no one has dreams like his. And most people don't stay up at three in the morning for pleasure..

He presses his palm against the cool wood of the door, opening it and stepping in. The room was surprisingly normal; painted a spring green with dark, mahogany furniture. His gaze falls on the bed, and he sees Amy's flailing figure. She was screaming for something to stop, moving on the bed restlessly. Ian hurried near her, holding her shaking frame. Her face was flushed, eyes squeezed shut, and red hair messy.

"Amy! Calm down," he says when she starts to fight him. He restrains her from moving any more, and her eyes fly open, meeting his. There's a glassy sheen covering her jade orbs, and she bursts into tears, clutching at his shirt.

Forced on the bed, he moves so that he's holding her. He lets her cry against his chest, and when he tries to pull away, she grabs him. He'd always had a liking for her, but he never thought that the first time she hugged him would be under the circumstances of nightmares. Maybe he wasn't alone.

Her cries calm and she rubbs at her eyes. She looks up at him, gaping, and then shoots away.

"Oh my god, Ian. _What are you doing in my room_?" she screeches. She dives for her robe and covers the shorts and full sleeved tee she wears to sleep. Wrapping it around herself, she glares, all while blushing madly.

Ian stretches out on her bed, smirking playfully. He notices that the sheets smell like her; lavender and vanilla. "If I recall, you were the one grabbing me as if your life depended on it. A simple 'thank you' would suffice."

Her eyes widen once again, and a pink tint spreads further across her face and neck. She looks away, biting her lip. "Sorry for waking you," she mutters. "And thanks."

He gives a casual shrug. "It's no problem. Do you want to talk about it?"

When she doesn't reply, he starts to grow worried. He moves so he was sitting on the bed, and pats the empty section. "You know, this _is_ your bed, and I don't bite."

She gives a nervous laugh, and leans back on the headboard, holding her legs. "I had another nightmare. Everyone was being killed by... and I couldn't do anything. Everyone was there and there was so much blood." She shudders. "Dan, and Nellie, Fiske, Hamilton, Reagan, Madison, Ned, Sinead, Ted, Natalie, and..."

"And...?" he says, "I mean, you don't need to talk about it, if you don't want to."

"No, it's fine," she assures him. She closes her eyes. "And you."

"What?"

"You. The last person was you."

He doesn't know what to say. How is he supposed to tell her that the thought of losing her plagues his dreams as well? It seemed _so_ un-Kabra like, and the last thing he wants is to get rejected by her, and make things more awkward between them. But then again, he isn't the same person as the murderer during the clue hunt. He has changed...

Which is why he leans over and pulls her into his embrace. At first she stiffens, but her small frame relaxes and she rests her head on his shoulder, the smell of musky clove filling her. His arms wrap around her and so do hers, and they both haven't felt that safe in a long time.

"You know, the only reason I'm up is because I've been having nightmares, too," he starts. "And you're the reason I keep dreaming these... things."

Her heart sinks a bit, not knowing whether or not that was a good thing.

He chuckles, and continues. "Not the way you think. It's because I keep seeing that I'm losing you to Isabel. And every time I see you when I'm awake, it's nice to know my dreams aren't realities."

She's silent, and their arms drop. Amy stares at the fibers on her furry blankets, her head in a whirlwind of confusion. She yawns softly, and sighs.

"Do you want to go back to sleep?" Ian says, starting towards the door, saving her from answering.

She quickly takes his hand to stop him. "No. Please don't leave."

"Okay." The faintest of smiles appears on his lips.

They sit in silence, and Amy realizes she's still holding his hands. She gently lets go, slipping the blankets off. It's still dark and she can barely see his face, and she's sure she detects a bit of disappointment.

"Come on," she says. "Time for a midnight snack."

o.o.O.o.o

Now that they're in the lighted kitchen, sitting across from each other from the island counter in the kitchen, Amy realizes how _hot_ a disheveled Ian Kabra looks. Sure, he's handsome, but when his eyes are sleepy, and hair messy, he's a whole different person. And the way his shirt hugs his chest, outlining the muscles... a blush creeps it's way up her neck and onto her face._  
_

"Can stop staring, eh?" he teases.

His voice jolts her from her thoughts, and her face reddens. Where has her mind been wandering, lately? This was _so_ not her. She stares at her mug of chocolate milk, and his green tea. There's a plate of cookies between them, and she takes one, nibbling at the chocolate chip.

"You tend to blush very often," he adds, as if an afterthought.

She nearly chokes on her cookie. "Stop it!" she exclaims. "I feel like I'm overheating."

He rolls his eyes, sipping the warm liquid. "I tend to enjoy this effect that I have on you."

"Well I hate it."

"I think it's cute."

This time, she _does_ choke on her cookie, and Ian's eyes widen. He moves to rub her back, and she puts her head down on the table. "How moronic can I get?"

"Honestly, love? Very," he says, taking the empty glasses and placing them in the sink. Amy takes the platter, setting in on the counter, and pulls out small stood she can step on to reach the top shelf of a cabinet. Just as her hand grasps the cookie tin to replace the extras, the chair teeters, and she's falling down. But she doesn't hit the floor.

Instead, arms encircle her and she pulled upright by Ian. Now, she's sure her face resembles a tomato, and he smirks at her. "I could've gotten it for you."

"Not everyone's nearly six feet tall," she huffs.

A thought hits him like a ton of bricks, as he realizes the small amount of space between them. To boot, his arms are already around her, and all he has to do is lean down a bit. That's it. And Ian Kabra certainly wasn't going to pass the chance, was he? But this was Amy Cahill, heir to the Madrigals, and she could hire someone to kill him later.

_What's life without a little risk?_ he thinks. And then he's bring his lips down on hers, and Amy's grabbing his shirt, pulling him rest of the way.

Ian Kabra's been kissed by a lot of girls, but none of them taste like chocolate milk.

Her hand's tangled in his hair, and he takes it as an invitation to press forward with more intensity. They're lost in their own word, drinking each other's essence, when suddenly there's a bang and the sound of papers causes them to step apart.

o.o.O.o.o

"_What have you been doing to my daughter?_" Arthur Trent says furiously. He's completely neglected the papers on the floor, and is staring daggers at Ian. He turns to Amy, the fire still in his eyes. "I hope you've been _sleeping _in your room."

Neither of them bother to tell him that they've been suffering nightmares, and Amy glances at the clock. It's already eight thirty in the morning. She hasn't realized that they've been awake that long.

"Dad," she says, stepping away from Ian. "This isn't what you think."

Ian gives a loud sigh, scratching the back of his neck. "Actually, Amy, it sort of is."

"_WHAT_?!" Arthur exclaims.

Amy glares at Ian. "Shut it." Turning to her father, she says, "No, Dad, Ian and I haven' t been... err... doing _that_. And I'm twenty."

"I don't care how old you are. You're still my daughter and he's a _Kabra_!" he rants. "Jake... or Evan? Fine. But Vikram's son? N-"

"Stop it, Dad!" she says. "Just _please_."

He throws up his hands. "Fine! Don't come crying to me when he breaks up with you!" He turns on Ian, stepping forward until they're face to face. Ian takes a small step back, and Amy's suddenly surprised that her _father,_ of all people, intimidates him. "I'll be watching you very closely. Hurt my daughter, and you'll be wishing you were dead."

Ian clears his throat, and Arthur marches away. "Well..."

"Forget what just happened," Amy says, recovering from the yelling. "It's my Dad's job to be protective. Wait until Dan - "

"Are you saying what I think you are?" he says, grinning. "You know... the whole 'official' thing?"

She swings her arms around his neck, her lips brushing his. "You are the stupidest Lucian I've ever met."

"I'm going to ignore that," he mutters, trapping her in his embrace.

_That_ was the last time either Amy Cahill or Ian Kabra had a sleepless night.

o.o.O.o.o

_Fin._


End file.
